rose to escort the doctor to the door.

"Petticoats quotha?" said he, "Petticoats it shall be."

"In large doses!" nodded Dr. Ponderby, "and repeated often." So
saying, he shook the invalid's languid hand, smiled and bustled away.

"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, "there's a man of stark common sense,
Jack."

"Aye, aye," nodded the Major a little impatiently, "but what of
Effingham, you say he has left Westerham?"

"He left at mid-day, Jack."

"For good?"

"'Twould seem so, he marched bag and baggage. The rascal fences purely
well, I vow."

"Superlatively well," nodded the Major beginning to fill a much smoked
clay pipe.

"Man Jack, I thought he had ya' there in carte."

"Nay I was expecting it and ready, George. I should have caught him on
the riposte but I was short d'ye see----"

"Owing to ya' rib, Jack."

"Damn my rib!" exclaimed the Major. "'Tis pure folly I should be laid
up and sit here like a lame dog for so small a matter as a rib, d'ye
see----"

"'Tis more than ya' rib is wrong with ya', Jack!"

"A Gad's name, what?"

"A general gloom and debility induced by lack of and need for--a
petticoat."

"Folly!" snorted the Major, but his pale cheek flushed none the less.

"Talking o' Dalroyd, ya' pinked his sword arm, Jack."

"But he's alive, alive George and now, now for all I know--where's
Tom--where's Pancras? For all we know they may be fighting at this
moment!" And the Major half rose from his elbow-chair.

"Content ya', Jack, content ya'!" said the Colonel, pressing him back
with hands surprisingly gentle, "the lad's not fighting--nor likely to.
I swear again, he shan't cross blades with Dalroyd or Effingham if I
have to pistol the rogue myself, so ha' no worry on that score, Jack."

The Major sighed and leaned back in his chair while Lord Cleeve watched
him and, snuffing copiously, sighed sympathetically.

"'Tis the woefullest figure ya' cut, Jack, wi' that long face and
damned old service coat."

"'Tis the one I wore at Ramillies," said the Major, glancing down at
faded cloth and tarnished lace.

"Is it, begad! I'd never ha' recognised it. Then 'tis time 'twas
superannuated and retired from active service. You was wounded that
day I remember, Tack."

"Yes."

"Twice."

"Yes."

"But ya' never wore look so doleful--never such a damned dumb-dog,
suffer-and-smite me air--not then, Jack--not in those days and ya' were
generally nursing some wound or other."

"I was young